


We've got time

by metalmeisje



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Abuse, Gun Kink, Guns, M/M, Mobscast, Rape, Violence, dubcon, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 17:44:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6124930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metalmeisje/pseuds/metalmeisje
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re making this very hard on yourself, you know.” Ridge, smirk in place to make his words drip with poorly hidden venom, the thin veneer of pleasantness only barely holding, presses the barrel of his gun against the soft flesh under Xephos’ chin and forces him to tilt his head back. </p><p>His luck was pretty shit, lately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We've got time

**Author's Note:**

> So. Written in the spirit of Sparx' WOTF. Based on the Mobscast lore I have in place with a few friends. Xephos does not get the good end of the deal.
> 
> /throws hands up in the air
> 
> Do with it what you wish.

Ridge is about five paces away.

Xephos knows, because he’s been counting.

Slick, sticky soles move across the concrete floor at a steady, almost leisurely pace, away from him for _one, two, three, four, five._ Like a man out for a stroll that only lasts a few yards before he turns on his heels and makes his way back, quietly whistling some tune that Xephos has long since stopped recognizing as he makes his way back at his own pace. There’s no rush.

Five.

His hands flex once, twice behind his back, rope burn cutting through the outer layers of his haze but not quite new enough to bother him anymore.

_An important meeting, my ass._

Four.

(It’s an _annoying_ song. But he keeps quiet about it.)

Three.

Xephos takes a deep breath and forces his eyes open, flinching ever so slightly at the jab of pain that shoots through the left side of his face and outlines ever-so-wonderfully where he knows bruises will bloom soon – if they haven’t already.

Two.

It’s nearly impossible to open his left eye properly, nothing more than a small slit to peer through, but that’s _fine._ He doesn’t need to see much anyway; just a little would be nice. Saves him the next surprise, maybe. Hair normally slicked back with pomade is hanging in his eyes, tangled with sweat and quite possibly blood and a downright mess; every time he shakes it out of his eyes-

_One._

It just falls back.

“You’re making this very hard on yourself, you know.” Ridge, smirk in place to make his words drip with poorly hidden venom, the thin veneer of pleasantness only barely holding, presses the barrel of his gun against the soft flesh under Xephos’ chin and forces him to tilt his head back. Their eyes meet over the shimmering metal, pale blue obscured by panic- and drug-fueled black meeting the soft, warm brown that would have been pleasant if it had been anyone else staring back at Xephos.

His luck was pretty shit, lately.

Unable to stop himself, Xephos groans when Ridge pressed the cool metal against his chin with even more force. He’s about 47 hours past caring enough to bite his tongue in an attempt to keep the sounds he makes to himself, blood and brittle bits of an unlucky molar and the bitter aftertaste of regret enough to convince him that it’s _really_ not worth the effort to try. Ridge’s face splits into a grin when he hears the pained, soft sound and he shakes his head in some mockery of disappointment.

“Oh, Xephos. _Xephos._ ” Ridge drops into a crouch, heels lifting off the floor with a sticky sound that makes Xephos cringe as he attempts to shuffle back in his chair a little. It’s a shit thing though, range of movement; at least it is when his hands are pulled back so far behind him his shoulders are numb with the ache of it, when Ridge is _in his face_ and refuses to back off even when Xephos – uncharacteristically – whimpers at the feeling of a barrel in the soft bit between his jawbone, metal that bites and forces him to bare his throat when that is just about the last thing he wants.

He’s losing his goddamn _edge_.

“You should _really_ be flattered I’m still even bothering with you,” Ridge comments lightly, flicking back the safety on his gun and _basking_ in the way Xephos’ eyes widen when he aims at the wall and pulls the trigger. The bullet ricochets off the concrete with a thunder-loud crack, off to somewhere unknown, and Xephos is convinced he can taste his heart in his throat when Ridge smiles sweetly at him.

“I could have ended this ages ago. You’re barely worth the attention, after all.”

He wasn’t _always_ afraid to die. In fact it has been a long, _long_ time since he has felt his stomach curl up at the kind of panic he knows can be traced back to the reptilian part of his brain, ice-cold and heavy in his gut. Just because he is usually on the other end of the barrel doesn’t mean that he _always_ is, but it had never been a real possibility. He’s too _good_ at this, like a shark in water; paid for talents that are hidden in the shadows but oh, so very effective.

Talent isn’t helping him much, now.

He watches the gun in Ridge’s hand carefully, painfully aware of the fact that it’s _loaded_ now; has seen for himself just what kind of damage it can do.

And hell, even if Ridge was the worst _fucking_ shot to walk these streets, a point-blank shot to the temple is really goddamn hard to miss.

“Bite me,” Xephos chokes out, fingers flexing out of instinct and trying for the hundredth time to grab at something. To curl his fingers around the end of the rope tied around his wrists and tug until it comes free; for the hundredth time, it is no use whatsoever. All it does is scrape his wrists open a little further, dull pain spreading from the chafe marks until Xephos’ fingers are numb with it.

Ridge just smirks.

“Don’t ask for something when you don’t want it, blue eyes.” And just like that his knee is between Xephos’ legs, pressing down hard and drawing a surprised yelp from Xephos as he attempts to move away. “Haven’t you learned, by now? Then again, you always do so love to run your mouth. Maybe we should just give it something better to do, hm.”

Which, all things considered, is one of the more ominous things to hear coming from Ridge. Xephos just swallows and bites his tongue, jaw set in determination to ignore the harsh knee against his cock that is more painful than anything else. A steady, unmovable pressure that makes him want to shove his head forward just to hear the satisfying crack of Ridge’s nose _breaking._

It would help if the room didn’t goddamn spin every time he moved his head.

“Come on, blue eyes. Open up.” Eyes glittering in the dim light of the room, Ridge casually raises the gun and taps Xephos’ mouth with the far end of the barrel, leaving the taste of gun oil on his lips. “Or would you rather I knock out some more of those pretty teeth of yours?”

It’s not an empty threat and Xephos knows it, wincing at the memory of teeth loose in his mouth. A fist could do so much damage already and he is loathe to consider just how fucking awful being smacked square in the jaw with a gun would do, but he hesitates anyway. Scowling up at Ridge and seriously considering just taunting him enough to provoke a bullet in his head because this is fucking _humiliating._

But he is, above all else, a survivor.

“Good boy,” Ridge says cheerfully when Xephos opens his mouth a little, nose scrunched up when he tastes cold metal and bitter oil that seems to go well with the bile that rises in his throat. “A little wider now- come one, since when are you hesitant about sucking something off? We both know that you look best on your knees, don’t we?”

Ridge shoves the barrel in further and Xephos nearly gags, swallowing desperately around the painful intrusion. His throat screaming as it tries to accommodate the sharp edges of something that should _not_ be used to demonstrate fellatio on but it makes Ridge’s grin widen even more, letting out a soft _tsk-tsk_ as he presses his knee down a little more.

“There we go. Don’t you go pretending you don’t like this, blue eyes. Really, I’m doing you a favor, here.”

The worst thing – well, one of the worst things, the list is steadily growing, Xephos realizes – is that he isn’t entirely wrong. He’d _enjoyed_ sucking dick, if only because he knew that he could just as easily break someone’s neck or put a bullet between their eyes as soon as they tried something. Even assassin’s sometimes dropped their guard enough to go on their knees for someone and Xephos had _enjoyed_ that, the feeling of a cock being shoved so far down his throat he had to sneak in air between forceful thrusts. But making someone squirm like that, defenseless and pliant, had been as enjoyable as it had been.. practical, once or twice.

Now, there is very little enjoyment to be found. Xephos gags in earnest when Ridge moves his knee a little, presses the gun down so far that Xephos’ air is cut off. All he can inhale the bitterness of oiled-up metal and he presses his tongue against it desperately, trying to shove it out of his mouth even when Ridge moves his knee and makes him choke.

Something dark curled up at the base of his spine rears its head and Xephos whimpers.

“ _There_ we go,” Ridge repeats, flashing sharp teeth when he sees his right-hand man flush in poorly-hidden distress. “I told you I would take care of you. Now be good and show me just how grateful are; you wouldn’t want my finger to _slip,_ right?”

Letting out a strangled whimper, Xephos does his best to ignore the flash-flare of panic when he realizes  Ridge’s finger is still on the trigger. Of a loaded gun. One twitch and his brains will be nothing but decoration of this god-forsaken basement floor.

Steadily, Ridge begins shoving the barrel in and out of Xephos’ mouth, smirking as he places a hand on Xephos’ shoulder and moves his knee. And _fuck,_ how he hates this; fingers flexing restlessly when the first painful hint of arousal coil in his stomach, his cock more than happy with the attention Ridge’s forceful movements are supplying. The way the fabric of his pants stirring his cock to life and making Xephos’ hips twitch like the betrayal they are.

“You know, you complain an awful lot when I am being so nice to you,” Ridge comments, shoving the barrel of the gun so far down that it brushes the back of Xephos’ throat. “I mean, not everyone would want to deal with someone like you. Look at you, getting hard just because I’m letting you suck off a gun. _Really,_ blue eyes.”

Xephos shuts his eyes, unable to stop himself from tearing up at the pain-pleasure that makes him arch his back away from the chair and into Ridge instead of away, like he would do if he had _any common goddamn sense._ But lack of sleep has made him drowsy and the drugs sure as fuck don’t help, making his thoughts sluggish and slow as he swallows instinctively around the harsh intrusion.

It blurs together, then; the painful drag of dirty fabric against his cock every time Ridge moves a little closer, pressing his knee between Xephos’ legs and chuckling when Xephos ruts against him helplessly. The taste of metal drowning out everything else until his throat and tongue are sore, unable to push the barrel out. At one particularly good twitch of his hips Xephos groans and Ridge’s laughter is bittersweet, would have been so wonderful if it had been anyone else. This just makes him nauseous, sick to his stomach but writhing in his chair anyway.

Xephos comes in his pants like a teenager, the scream that lays curled up in chest muffled by the barrel until Ridge _mercifully_ pulls it out.

“One of these days, you’re going to realize how good I am to you.” Ridge wipes the gun on Xephos’ shirt with a look of mild disapproval before holstering it again, patting Xephos’ cheek in mock sympathy before standing up and stretching leisurely. Xephos just blinks hazily, cheeks and chest flushed in embarrassment as he stares at the floor.

_Disgusting._

“But don’t worry.” Ridge’s voice is eerily optimistic as he grabs Xephos’ chin, forcing the tall man to look up and meet his eyes. His fingers dig in so harshly that they might leave bruises, adding to the blue-purple palette of ownership that Xephos knows already decorates his skin.

He wish he could say he had some pride left to stop himself from whimpering.

“We’ve got time. I’ll see you tomorrow, blue eyes.”


End file.
